


Power Over Me

by Rhoverty



Series: Tacenda [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhoverty/pseuds/Rhoverty
Summary: He wanted though. Wanted many things. But the one he wanted the most, stood above him, not wanting him at all.





	Power Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> I think I’m gunna starting doing these more often. There a great stress reliever and keep me from loosing it when working on my other stories.
> 
> I could even take requests if anyone’s interested. I have a tumblr to do so.
> 
> tumblr.com/rhoverty
> 
> Song Inspo : “Power Over Me” by Dermot Kennedy

The Tears tore down his cheeks as he stared up at the man before him. He ignored the way the rain trailed down its armor and the lightening cast shadows across that familiar figure.

He didn’t- he didn’t want to be in this situation, bruised and bloodied as he clutched his arm and felt pain spike along his nerves. He didn’t want to be staring up at the man before him with tears burning in his eyes. 

He didn’t want the memories - of movies nights and galas and baseball games and all the good things that made the past so damn intoxicating to fall back on - to corrupt his thoughts.

He wished this second life was a dream. 

Wished he could finally wake up from this nightmare and go back to the loving family he so desperately craved. 

To see a happy man in the face of his father.

Instead of the disappointment that carved into his wrinkles.

He longed for it, to see that same man in the cowl which stared down at him like the face of an unholy god. A being who sought justice in the place of forgiveness. Who allowed his first to incarcerate his second without batting an eye. 

He didn’t need the help which Arkham was so happy to give in the form of twisted smiles and crooked frowns. 

Like a man sent to the gallows, he dreaded every morning he opened his eyes to that blank ceiling and those smooth walls. To the laughter that echoed just down the hall like a mantra, buzzing in his ears like a persistent bee.

Instead of staring up at the manic who sent him to his death, at his mercy and the tool he held, he was staring up at the one man he’d hope would understand.

Understand the fear, the terror, the nightmares which plagued his dreams like a virus to the body. 

Understand that death was the only hope to stop the monster of his reality. To put to rest the tremors that shook his form to the core when spoken that animals name.

“You need help.” He said, it wasn’t a suggestion. It hadn’t been from the beginning. 

There were no  if, and’s,  or what’s , it was a statement. 

An order.

_You need help._

He ground his teeth, lips quivering as he shuttered a breath. It hurt to speak, to voice his rage and grief. But his mind protested beside his body.

“I don’t need help!” He snapped, voice hitching with a sob.

He didn’t need anything outside of the necessities; food, water, shelter, and an occupation. 

He wanted though. Wanted many things. But the one he wanted the most, stood above him, not wanting him at all. 

“I just want my dad...” 

Even as he cried - in the face of old memories and distance smiles - he knew that wasn’t ever going to be the man, standing before him, again.


End file.
